Conspiracy Of The Mist

Contributor

Neon light paints the lofty night.

Romance crystallizes the murmuring breeze.

November shower arrives on the shores and

whispers on the ears of unholy graffitis.

Echoes of rhythmic clubs and million ambitions

crawl the tall ceilings of cornucopia.

Some dreams trickle through an absurd hole.

Mist of voluptuous bay conspires atrocities on

weary eyes, hungry lips and desperate youth.

Money cannot vanquish the banality of filth

and light dies on the cracks of bravado.

Babel often is an undiagnosed pain,

but the city moves on as if everyday.